


Learning to Fly

by Vathara



Category: Gargoyles (TV), Seven Days (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Songfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vathara/pseuds/Vathara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Songfic bit of "Urban Legends", post the NYC Demona mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Fly

> Into the distance, a ribbon of black  
> Stretched to the point of no turning back...

Dr. Olga Vukavitch gripped the night-chill railing of the old fire tower, gazing down the darkness of the abandoned Nevada runway. Felt her mouth go dry, even as she kept her expression cool. Shuddered, and closed her eyes, trying to shake the nauseating dizziness of height. "You are out of your mind." 

Frank B. Parker, NSA agent, chrononaut, and Never-Never Land's resident nutcase, grinned at her; a white flash of teeth under that unmistakable nose. "Come on, people tell me that all the time." 

Metal thrummed under her hands; Craig Donovan, Backstep's chief military advisor, backing away from the edge. "She's got a point, Frank. This is a little more out there than punting golf balls at Ramsey's car." 

"Yes; where _is_ Mr. Ramsey?" Olga asked dryly. Not to mention the rest of the MIBs who should have been hounding their every move, so long as Frank was along. Mr. Parker was not nearly as insane as the government had painted him before they'd thrown him into the Hansen Island facility; if he had been, they'd never have trusted him with Backstep. But he wasn't quite in step with the rest of the world, either. 

_As if he could be_ , a traitorous part of her mind murmured. _He's seen the world die, seen you die, countless times. And every time he flies the needles back, with nothing but the memories and the hope he can make it come out right this time..._

It was enough to make anyone feel... fond of him. Of course. That's what she was. Fond of him. He was her chief patient, and her co-worker, and they had a reasonably civil relationship saving the world from disaster. What more could she want? 

And it certainly didn't hurt that he was good-looking, and occasionally personable, and... deplorably predictable when it came to bars. 

"Oh, Isaac's got him busy doing something," Parker shrugged, licking a finger to hold it into the wind. "Polishing bullets, color-coding his sock drawer... who knows. Who cares?" He grinned at her, waved at empty air. "C'mon, how hard can it be?" 

And then he'd say something like that, and she wanted to bounce his impenetrable skull off solid titanium. "Mr. Parker--" 

A step too far, and metal shook under her feet. 

> A flight of fancy on a windswept field  
> Standing alone my senses reeled...

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

"Olga?" 

Hold chill metal. Tight. Feel it leech heat from her palms, turn fingertips chill as a desert night. Not that there was much heat there to suck away; her eyes caught a glimpse of fingers white with heart-stopping terror. 

"Olga, come on, it's okay. You're okay. See? Railing's solid..." 

Only her traitorous heart _wouldn't_ stop, wouldn't release her from this torment of _height_ and _falling_. 

Warmth, rubbing across her shoulders. A body leaning close, voice low and cautious. 

She clutched at it, fingernails biting into cloth. Metal could crumble. Metal could fall. 

This was safe. 

> A fatal attraction holding me fast, how  
> Can I escape this irresistible grasp?

"Frank?" Donovan hesitated, just out of reach of the white-faced Russian psychologist. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." 

"Now you tell me." Ignoring Olga's death grip on his arm, Frank kept rubbing her shoulders under scarlet hair. Backstep's Director of Medicine and Research was one of the bravest people he'd ever met, but everybody had their breaking point. Donovan didn't like going against orders. Frank couldn't take tight places... though he was dealing with that. Slowly. 

Olga hated heights. 

"Look." Frank let just enough edge creep into his voice to get Olga's eyes on him instead of the ground. "Isaac's good, but he can only keep Ramsey running in circles so long. And I thought, if you guys wanted to figure this out, you'd be better off doing it without the goon squad and their handy video cameras." _And with somebody here who knows what you're going through._

Though he didn't. Not really. Demona's spell had bounced off him, left him human as he'd been before he ever saw New York. 

Olga and Donovan hadn't been that lucky. 

"What the hell." Donovan unlaced his boots, balled socks inside even as his toes flinched from the chill. Took off his coat, standing in the wind in nothing but cammo trousers and a black tee shirt. "Here goes..." 

Strong fingers blurred, went from brown four to almost walnut-dark, taloned three. Ears pointed. Muscled flesh grew and changed, sprouting a sweep of dark wings and a spiked tail. 

Frank held his ground, refusing to flinch. Donovan in human form could give him a fair fight any day of the week. Donovan as a gargoyle could throw him through a wall. 

But Donovan wasn't going to do that. Because Donovan was his friend. And his fellow officer. 

And if nothing else, Donovan knew Frank didn't fight _fair_. 

"That is biologically _impossible_ ," Olga grumbled into Frank's shoulder. 

"Then you figure it out." Stretching dark membranes, Donovan tossed them a quick, fanged grin. "Too bad you can't try this, Frank. Heck of a rush." 

"Thanks. Pass." Give him the Sphere and blood from the eyes any day of the week. _Time_ shifted around him, events fluxing and warping every time he flew the needles. He didn't think he could stand it if his own body turned a stranger. 

"Weird," Donovan muttered, leaping up to crouch on the rail. Long talons curled around metal; a quiet screech of claws on steel. "Like you can almost see the wind..." 

Wings spread, he dropped into space. 

"Donovan!" 

Ears ringing from her shriek, Frank scanned the asphalt below. Nothing, nothing-- "There!" 

Olga sucked in a shuddering breath, sagging against him as Donovan rose into view. "You're _all_ mad," she murmured, tipping her head to catch the laughter floating through the wind as Donovan circled, climbing thermals left over from the scorching desert day. 

> Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies  
> Tongue-tied and twisted, Just an earth-bound misfit, I...

Olga detached herself from Frank's arm, waiting for the inevitable sarcasm. The man was shameless; enemy or friend, he'd certainly not miss such an opportunity as this... 

"You okay?" 

"No." The ground had lost some of its sickening tendency to spin. But now it was counterbalanced by the wind through her hair, the starlit sky that called and beckoned and _pulled_ \-- 

_No!_

But she wanted the wind. Wanted the fire that would crackle in her veins, the strength that could tear through steel, the speed that could race falcons. Wanted it so terribly, terribly much... 

"It's addictive," Olga said bluntly, eyes on Donovan as he tried a few slow rolls in mid-air. "You're stronger. Faster. There's more... instinct, less control. It's intoxicating." 

"Good thing it's not me, huh?" 

Indeed. Frank knew himself that well, at least. He might not admit it, but she was certain there were times he was not unhappy to spend most of his days confined to NNL. There were limits to the gambling and alcohol available; limits to the damage he could do to himself. Or anyone else. 

Though she was also certain he wasn't as hopeless a case as he might believe. He was _here_ , after all; not heading for Vegas, wine, and women. Despite the absence of security. 

Not that she intended to mention that. 

"Thing is, it's not a drug." Frank's gaze was deadly serious. "It's part of who you are now." 

Unfortunately true, based on the surreptitious tests she'd run on Donovan's DNA. And her own. They weren't - quite - human anymore. Even when they appeared to be. Certain aspects of their biochemistry were just... different. 

_Increased appetite, enhanced hearing, light sensitivity, overall nocturnal tendencies..._ She had a growing list of subtle differences from the normal run of humanity. None of which seemed to faze Parker, drat him. 

Though he had snickered for an hour the day Donovan walked in with a sunburn. 

"You've got to find out how to handle it now, or you'll end up learning under fire." Frank gave her a crooked grin. "And trust me, that is _not_ the way you want to do it." 

No point in protesting that she'd never be in a situation desperate enough to shift forms. They lived to fix disasters, human or otherwise; and far too often, they encountered those who did not want catastrophe undone. 

_I can do this. I can._

_I must._

> A soul in tension that's learning to fly  
> Condition grounded but determined to try...

One second there was pale skin under Frank's hands; the next, a wave of jade, an arch of spikes through scarlet hair. 

_Don't flinch. Don't--_

And then he did have to move aside, as wings swept out from her back, bat-like membranes the fleeting green of sunset. 

_Beautiful,_ Frank thought, touching the leathery skin over bone as Olga involuntarily cloaked her wings. Maybe not the same as she was human, but just as lovely. 

_Uh-huh. And is that because or in spite of the fact she could shred you like yesterday's newspaper?_

Hard to say. Olga as a human was no slouch in the danger department. Though she usually stuck to shredding people with words. 

Which was part of the reason he loved her. 

_"...The problem is the way I am with you I haven't known a lot of women like you who have it going on upstairs and look as good as you and can give it back to me as good as I give it."_

 _Olga stared at him, wide-eyed._

 _

"What?" 

"You actually just managed to be honest with me," she said, amazed. 

"I'll try not to do it again."

_

But the time-loop had wiped it away. As time seemed to wipe away everything he cared about. For Olga, it'd never happened. 

Just as well, maybe. Now she could go on thinking he was unromantic and insincere. Which he was. Very. There had to be _some_ way he could smuggle in candles and a lobster dinner onto the base... 

Then again, after their bout with the Dunwych madness, maybe he'd be better off with a good filet mignon. 

Claws clicked on steel as Olga gripped the rail. "Wish me luck?" 

"Hey, you keep telling me luck's the last thing I need." Not that she'd remember that, either, given she said it before Backsteps. "Remember. Flying's easy. Just miss the ground." 

" _Very_ funny, Mr. Parker." A ruby glow lit her eyes; faded as she clambered onto the rail. "Well." Olga licked her lips, stared at the ground. "Well." 

Frank grinned, moved in, and shoved. "Alley-oop!" 

"Aaahhh!" 

> Above the planet on a wing and a prayer,  
> My grubby halo, a vapor trail in the empty air,  
> Across the clouds I see my shadow fly  
> Out of the corner of my watering eye...

Asphalt - coming fast - too fast-- 

And wind boomed under the skin of her wings, lofting her into a clean half-loop, ten feet from the ground. 

Olga sucked in cool night air, felt her tail flick angrily. As she could still somehow feel the warm pressure of Frank's hands, as he tossed her into flight. 

She'd kill him. She would. 

As soon as she could figure out how to turn around. 

"Something else, huh?" Donovan swooped down; angled away as she wobbled, before his wings could rob her of too much wind. "Ah, sorry." 

"Just wait until your next physical, Captain Donovan," Olga grumbled, trying a tentative tuck of wings to angle her into a small updraft. _A little more, a little more - ah._ Wind hit angled skin, bore her up in a loose spiral. "I'll be certain they chill every instrument. Personally." 

_Like a glider. Think of a glider._

Only a glider didn't have two independent wings, responsive to every flinch of muscle or thought. A glider didn't tug at her bones, drawing on reserves of strength and speed a human simply didn't have. 

A glider didn't _feel_ this good... 

> Ice is forming on the tips of my wings  
> Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything  
> No navigator to guide my way home  
> Unladen, empty and turned to stone...

Leaning on the rail, Frank watched Olga and Donovan play in the wind. _Looks like fun._

Maybe a little too much fun. Donovan had the kind of speculative grin Frank had last seen aimed at a pair of Vegas showgirls. 

_Oh, no you don't, buddy._ Damn, he should've known this would be a bad idea. Olga was still shaky about the whole New York mess; she did not need a hit-on from one of her fellow hybrids. How the hell would he get up there? 

And Olga rolled into the wind, and out of sight. 

One minute. Two. Three. 

No sign of her. 

_Terrific._ He knew they should have carried the GPS locators. _Don't tell me we'll have to call out the cavalry 'cause Olga got lost._

A whisper of wind was his only warning; steel gripped his shoulders. "Got you." 

"Yeah," Frank admitted, eyeing jade claws a little too close to his neck. "Ah - about the shove--" 

Inhumanly strong arms scooped him up, carried him toward the edge. 

"Oh, come on." Frank tried to twist loose. Tried a little harder. "It wasn't that bad..." 

A low, ruby-eyed growl. 

"Okay, maybe it was that bad - Olga, come on, _please_ \--" 

She leaped. 

He yelled all the way down. 

A swoop of wind, and his knees found the ground. Stray pebbles bored into his left kneecap, bright sparks of pain. Frank barely noticed. _Oh boy. Oh, boy..._

"Serves you right." Talons stalked under his nose; Olga settled her wings on her shoulders with a _hmph_. 

So maybe he did deserve that. A little. If he could just catch his breath... 

She dropped to a spiked knee, eyeing him clinically. "Mr. Parker?" 

"Just - a little chilly," Frank managed, trying to shut out the image of the ground coming up way too fast. A near-photographic memory might be good for Backstep, but it had some pretty hefty drawbacks for him. "Nevada nights. Go figure. You're not cold?" 

"Not... like this, no." A silken rustle; tourmaline warmth wrapped around him. "Is this better?" 

Um. Oh, yeah. Satin-soft skin all around him, a drift of feathery scarlet mane against his cheek, various other pleasant portions of Olga's anatomy in close proximity. Frank stared up into eyes with just a hint of ruby glow under the brow ridge. Spared a tentative thought for talons, claws, not to mention the fangs... 

_Oh, what the heck._

Leaning in, he kissed her. 

> There's no sensation to compare with this  
> Suspended animation, A state of bliss  
> Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies  
> Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I...

_Yes!_ Craig Donovan allowed himself a triumphant shake of one clenched fist, confident the pair on the ground were completely oblivious. _Damn, I owe Mentnor twenty bucks._

The elderly black-ops scientist had been right after all. Flirt or not, Frank never would have made a serious move on Olga for himself. Parker's CIA-inspired nervous breakdown had made too much of a mess of his old marriage; once burned, more than twice shy. 

Wake up those old Parker protective instincts, though, and Frank would walk through fire. 

_And Mentnor knew it._ Donovan shook his head, making a slow circle over the runway. How Isaac had known, he hadn't said; just muttered something about even adopted Wyverns having a lot in common with gargoyles. _Have to ask him about that sometime--_

A glint of starlight off metal caught a dark-adapted eye. _Uh-oh._

He whooshed onto the stairs where his boots and coat were, stumbling a little on touchdown. _Ouch. Definitely need practice._ "Hate to break this up, guys," he hurled Olga's hiking boots down, drawing a yelp from Parker, "But we've got black SUVs; about three miles down the road and closing fast." 

Olga's snarl was impenetrable Russian, but Frank's "Damn!" was clear enough. 

"So unless we want Nathan to find us _in flagrante gargoylioso_..." Donovan closed his eyes, summoning up the _feel_ of five fingers, a hornless head, light-adapted eyes. 

Like fire running backwards. He felt his weight shift, night turn chill and dark... 

Leaned back against the steps, panting as if he'd run seven blocks. But human again. More or less. _Damn. Not as easy as it looks._

Silence below. "So..." Pebbles rattled; if he didn't know better, Donovan would swear Frank was shuffling his feet. "I was wondering if, maybe..." The chrononaut cleared his throat. "Want to go on a hike sometime?" 

A pause. "I might think about it," Olga allowed. 

"Really?" Frank was trying for calm, but Donovan had to grin at the shy hope in his voice. 

"Really. Now," Olga straightened, boots laced. "Shall we go annoy Mr. Ramsey?" 

Frank grinned; for once, without an ounce of suggestiveness in it. "Lady after my own heart..."


End file.
